Floral

I wrote these very words on your skin.
I spoke them through the gaps of my teeth.
I woke up one morning and smelt the roses
and they told me they wanted to go home.
They said;
Why did you exploit me?
Pluck me from my beloved thrown
place me in an antique, spherical vase
a temporary centerpiece.
I’m glad you like my scent
and the way my bubble gum hue
compliments your salmon colored walls.
But that doesn’t give you the right
to strip me from the very place I thrive.
I’m embarrassed don’t you see?
The guests arrive.
They stare.
They smell.
They watch.
As I wilt away.
But that’s all fine,
as long as you have something
pretty to stare at while
you drink your fancy wine.

I am parched.
Soon I’ll be long gone
and you’ll be at the next Sunday farmers market
hoping you find a plant
who will put up as much of a fight as I did.

We are all eventually
eliminated from our favorite equations.
But that is how this cycle ends.

Everything’s coming up roses huh?
Well – all the roses are dead.

 
Photo Credit @Julie Anderson All Rights Reserved


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